<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>in my mind's eye by cherubique</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22854838">in my mind's eye</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherubique/pseuds/cherubique'>cherubique</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>amicitia - when everyone lives [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Oxenfree (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Complicated Relationships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Michael Lives (Oxenfree), Protective Siblings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 18:33:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,650</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22854838</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherubique/pseuds/cherubique</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After the island, Alex compulsively memorizes the people that she loves- afraid of losing them to the loops, and distortion of memory. Jonas is more than happy to help her through it, even if Michael finds himself uneasy with the entire situation.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alex &amp; Jonas (Oxenfree), Alex &amp; Michael (Oxenfree), Jonas &amp; Michael (Oxenfree)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>amicitia - when everyone lives [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1481741</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>56</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>in my mind's eye</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Your name is Jonas,” she starts, holding both of his hands in hers, eyes piercingly staring at him. He only nods, brushing a bit of his dark brown hair out of his eyes, adjusting the way his beanie sits. It’s a little crooked, askew, and Alex’s grip tightens, face scrunched up like she’s memorizing her timestable in front of him, struggling to bring that gridded mess of numbers to mind. It’s been awhile since either of them were crammed in some dingy highschool. The island feels like a thousand lifetimes all folded up on top of one another. Both of them have been struggling to readjust to the carefully meted out hours and minutes of everyday mundanity since.</p><p>“You’re the tallest out of all of us- except for Michael, of course,” she continues. The sky overhead is eye wateringly blue, with crisply white cotton clouds scudding along the horizon. A light breeze shakes the leaves of the scarred oak tree the picnic bench is squashed up against. Their initials are carved into the base of its trunk, a little crooked from where Jonas’ hand slipped, the flat of his switchblade arcing a little too close to the bark, and making the J thicker, almost a U when you looked at it dead on. He’s glad that it isn't storming- the overcast reminder would be too much. Maybe he can fix the lettering when she’s skipped off back home- begging off on account of needing a smoke break, and not wanting to deal with Michael’s stink eye for polluting the porch: unlit cigarette clamped between his teeth in concentration as he carefully digs the tip of the knife into the soft wood. </p><p>“That’s right,” he says, and he knows his role here is only background noise, as Alex’s eyes dart over him, head to toe. That’s his job, and he’s more than happy to fulfill it. It’s not like she needs to- but the course of action reassures her, and he doesn’t mind being subject to that scrutiny. Not if it’s what she needs to feel better.</p><p>“Your eyes are like, a muddyish green-brown, kind of like the slimy algae that gunks up the pier after a full tide. You always have that stupid green army jacket on, you thrifted it from a second hand store before you started highschool. Your sneakers were white, once upon a time,” she teases, sticking her tongue out at him momentarily. He responds by pulling down the skin beneath his eye, his tongue piercing flashing underneath the sunlight as he pulls a grotesque face in response. </p><p>“What can I say, Alex, I’m a filthy gremlin, like Michael says all boys are-” he jokes, and she swats him lightly on the arm. She bites back a laugh, and Jonas wishes that she wouldn’t- Alex tips her head back when she laughs, unabashed and on the edge of hysterical, giggling and snorting, shoulders shaking with mirth until she’s brought her gaze back down again, cheeks flushed from the exertion of being host to that much joy despite everything that they’ve been through. Despite everything that she’s been through: no one holds the weight of the loops as heavily on their shoulders as Alex does- Alexandria, the library to all of those scattered instances of would-be’s-could-be’s-shouldn’t-be’s. And still- there is joy. It’s beautiful. He thinks that she’s most beautiful when she’s laughing. </p><p>“You’ve got like, this favourite red hoodie, with a light brown hood on it, and you wear purple freaking pants out jogging like some kind of maniac who absolutely despises any semblance of couture and is hoping to take down the establishment through looking like Goodwill threw up on you,” she continues. She’s rubbing her thumbs along his knuckles, a gentle soothing gesture, and he lets her. He knows that it’s more for herself than him. </p><p>“You’ve got a golden ring slipped onto that necklace,” she says, letting go of one of his hands, voice soft- so that she can pluck at the cord that’s half hidden by his shirt. “And you used to live in Westedge, which isn't that far from North Valley- where everyone’s a farmer, or a banker, and it’s kind of soaked in small town blues because it’s not got a whole lot going for it- but only <i>you’re</i> allowed to make fun of it. Because you’ve earned that right, because it’s yours,” and now she’s let the necklace go again, it bounces against his chest with a slight thud, the metal frigid despite the warmth outside. He resists the urge to close his hand around the ring protectively, even swaddled beneath layers of fabric like it is.</p><p>“It’s kind of like having a sibling, y’know,” she lapses into thought for a moment- and Jonas knows that she’s consumed with thoughts of Michael: his easy smile, their matching tanned skin, dark brown eyes, the baseball t-shirts and jackets that float between their closets as easily as the tide sloshes between high and low down by the marina. The way that he’s so comfortable in his own skin, but still touches the back of his neck self consciously, gripping as if to reassure himself when he’s doling out sagely advice, trying on the role of an older brother who’s wizened by their tiny age gap, one foot firmly out the door of adolescence and trying on the title of a <i>man</i>- broad shouldered and slim hipped, firm and authoritative, but warm in the way a father isn't. </p><p>He can picture him almost as well as she can, and most of it’s from second hand retellings crowded around bonfires and walks late at night in Camena- because Michael still doesn’t quite like him. He doesn’t know what to make of him. Jonas thinks that that’s fair enough: Michael wasn’t there, the island doesn’t haunt his dreams: his nightmares are surrounded with the burn of water in his lungs, chlorine biting at the corners of his eyes, the wet sliminess of algae whisking alongside his ankles as he kicked and screamed, hauled into the rip tide over and over and over again. Michael never had the time to get to know him, not like Alex did. He knows this because Alex tells him all of this- keeps retelling him this, picking apart her brother with a surgeon’s tweezers, turning him over and over in her mind’s eye: like she carries everyone, now, petrified of losing them. Losing them again. She finds catharsis in understanding, in memorization- and who is he to deny her this?</p><p>“Because only you can make fun of them, you earned that by having them around as an annoying younger sibling,” he finishes her sentence for her- going to pinch her on the cheek, and she cackles, head thrown back. This time around, her hair was teal before Michael- this time around, it isn't a reminder of the sunlight striking the marina in all of summer’s fury, this time it doesn’t come with flashes of his waterlogged face, drowned in less than his height of water. All it takes is a few inches. All it took was a few feet. It’s bright and it’s colourful and it’s loose around her shoulders, coming undone from her ponytail- and he brushes some of it back behind her ear fondly. </p><p>The breeze pulls at a few tendrils, making them flicker and sway like tall grass gone wild in the front lawn: before Michael dragged him out to tersely mow it all to regulation tidiness. He didn’t look at him dead on for the entire afternoon, and Jonas kept to himself, elbows drawn tight to his side, pushing the lawnmower ahead of him and trying not to clip any stones or sticks, or draw the ire of a boy his age who doesn’t know whether or not he ought to punch him in the mouth or pull him close for a brotherly hug. He’s been keeping his distance, Jonas thinks, just until he can make up his mind. </p><p>“Uh-huh. You got it. You’re <i>Jonas,</i>” she says, and the weight that she places on his name makes his heart stutter, catching- the warmth that he feels towards her is almost unbearable, and he finds himself grinning, mouth gone crooked in the gesture.</p><p>“I’m Jonas,” he repeats, as if they’re introducing themselves at some shitty college icebreaker. “And I’m not going anywhere, Alex,” he says, a touch of urgency in his voice- and she smiles, eyes closing: though hers is more reserved than his, close lipped now: a tear bright in the corner of her eye, tracing a thin path down her face. More come. They pool at her chin, dripping off of her face, and soaking into the wood of the table. His chest aches. </p><p>“And you’re not going anywhere,” she whispers, voice hitching a little halfway through- he swipes a thumb over her cheek, flicks the tear off into the green grass behind them, onto solid land: immutable, steadfast. This isn't the rolling deck of the barge, nor is it the scrabbled sheer cliff faces on the island, the creaking boards beneath their feet liable to give way to drop them into the seawater, too- filled with the warped sunken bodies of those who had come before them, and those who would remain long after they left, too. This is firm footing. He knows where both of them stand- even if Michael hasn’t quite made up his mind, shifting his weight from foot to foot, eyes suspicious as he watches Jonas on smoke breaks, blowing mouthfuls of blue-gray smoke up into that eye watering summer sky.</p><p>“I’m not,” he promises, leaning in close to kiss her gently on the forehead, the same way Michael would, the same way that Michael does. “I’m not leaving you, Alex,” and his voice has gone soft, her name cradled in his mouth gently, like he’s afraid of breaking something precious.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>